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- Джек Лондон
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- Стр. 34/210
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That
man
was
Philadelphia
Red
.
Because
of
prior
conviction
he
was
serving
fifty
years
for
highway
robbery
committed
on
the
streets
of
Alameda
.
He
had
already
served
a
dozen
of
his
years
at
the
time
he
talked
to
me
in
the
jacket
,
and
that
was
seven
years
ago
.
He
was
one
of
the
forty
lifers
who
were
double-crossed
by
Cecil
Winwood
.
For
that
offence
Philadelphia
Red
lost
his
credits
.
He
is
middle-aged
now
,
and
he
is
still
in
San
Quentin
.
If
he
survives
he
will
be
an
old
man
when
they
let
him
out
.
I
lived
through
my
twenty-four
hours
,
and
I
have
never
been
the
same
man
since
.
Oh
,
I
do
n't
mean
physically
,
although
next
morning
,
when
they
unlaced
me
,
I
was
semi-paralyzed
and
in
such
a
state
of
collapse
that
the
guards
had
to
kick
me
in
the
ribs
to
make
me
crawl
to
my
feet
.
But
I
was
a
changed
man
mentally
,
morally
.
The
brute
physical
torture
of
it
was
humiliation
and
affront
to
my
spirit
and
to
my
sense
of
justice
.
Such
discipline
does
not
sweeten
a
man
.
I
emerged
from
that
first
jacketing
filled
with
a
bitterness
and
a
passionate
hatred
that
has
only
increased
through
the
years
.
My
God
--
when
I
think
of
the
things
men
have
done
to
me
!
Twenty-four
hours
in
the
jacket
!
Little
I
thought
that
morning
when
they
kicked
me
to
my
feet
that
the
time
would
come
when
twenty-four
hours
in
the
jacket
meant
nothing
;
when
a
hundred
hours
in
the
jacket
found
me
smiling
when
they
released
me
;
when
two
hundred
and
forty
hours
in
the
jacket
found
the
same
smile
on
my
lips
.
Yes
,
two
hundred
and
forty
hours
.
Dear
cotton-woolly
citizen
,
do
you
know
what
that
means
?
It
means
ten
days
and
ten
nights
in
the
jacket
.
Of
course
,
such
things
are
not
done
anywhere
in
the
Christian
world
nineteen
hundred
years
after
Christ
.
I
do
n't
ask
you
to
believe
me
.
I
do
n't
believe
it
myself
.
I
merely
know
that
it
was
done
to
me
in
San
Quentin
,
and
that
I
lived
to
laugh
at
them
and
to
compel
them
to
get
rid
of
me
by
swinging
me
off
because
I
bloodied
a
guard
's
nose
.
I
write
these
lines
to-day
in
the
Year
of
Our
Lord
1913
,
and
to-day
,
in
the
Year
of
Our
Lord
1913
,
men
are
lying
in
the
jacket
in
the
dungeons
of
San
Quentin
.
I
shall
never
forget
,
as
long
as
further
living
and
further
lives
be
vouchsafed
me
,
my
parting
from
Philadelphia
Red
that
morning
.
He
had
then
been
seventy-four
hours
in
the
jacket
.
"
Well
,
brother
,
you
're
still
alive
an
'
kickin
'
,
"
he
called
to
me
,
as
I
was
totteringly
dragged
from
my
cell
into
the
corridor
of
dungeons
.
"
Shut
up
,
you
,
Red
,
"
the
sergeant
snarled
at
him
.
"
Forget
it
,
"
was
the
retort
.
"
I
'll
get
you
yet
,
Red
,
"
the
sergeant
threatened
.
